


The Ties That Bind: A Father's Love

by stammi_vicinora



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Ballet Dancer Katsuki Yuuri, Gen, Kid Yurio, Single Dad AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 00:43:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11863083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stammi_vicinora/pseuds/stammi_vicinora
Summary: He couldn’t tell him how it felt seeing his son with another man who was not his father, yet was able to fit the role so much. It had sent a lump of uneasiness down into the pit of his stomach where it remained and festered whenever his thoughts grew dark. Even if he logically knew the man was not out to steal his son away from him by any means, it had hurt to see his Yurochka’s hand be held and see them having a good time together. It made him feel like he wasn’t meant to be Yuri’s father, like he was just trying to fill a role till Yuri was reunited with someone who was capable of giving Yuri a father's love.A ficlet from my The Ties That Bind multichap. This ficlet is set a couple of years into the future of the TTTB universe but no prior knowledge of the main TTTB series is necessary and it may be read as a standalone. This ficlet may also appear in future chapters in the main story so current readers can also get a sense on which direction the main story will go and is for those who want content while they wait for the next update.





	The Ties That Bind: A Father's Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sxijiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sxijiro/gifts).



> Hello, sadly for current TTTB readers, this is not a new chapter ｡･ﾟ･(´□｀*)･ﾟ･｡ Because of some personal issues, I had struggled with writing the main series. After having my confidence as a writer shattered, I had come close to quit writing altogether and taking all my fics down. A lot of words had been thrown my way for my writing style and the type of content that I put up and I was ready to close my account. I know that my writing isn't perfect and it needs a lot of improvement but all I wanted was to share my stories with the fandom. So I hope people enjoy this one too!

* * *

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Yuri demanded with his arms crossed, his cute button nose all scrunched up.

“Manners, Yurochka,” Yuuri reminded gently, bending down to unlace his son’s shoes in the small entrance space of the apartment. He took his time undoing the knot, holding the petite foot by the ankle as he slid off the red sneaker with a tenderness that only a father would know.

When he was born, Yuri had the tiniest feet that were no bigger than the size of his palm. Tiny but strong, always pushing up against his hands whenever Yuuri played with him. His cute giggles would morph into hysterical peals of laughter whenever Yuuri tried to give any sort of resistance, his strong legs kicking till Yuuri yielded, squealing out in delight for defeating his father.

Yuuri took the other shoe off, placing them neatly on the shoe rack against the wall. Yuuri’s warm eyes looked over the row of shelves in which Yuri’s footwear had taken over. Yuri had grown. No longer clad in just socks, Yuri now owned pairs upon pairs of shoes. Shoes that needed to be replaced almost every year, but unlike the wear and tear which was behind the reasoning of his ballet slippers, his regular footwear held no damage – other than perhaps a scuff or two. No, they were simply replaced because Yuri couldn’t fit in them anymore, his little baby was growing quickly. So fast in fact, that Yuuri swore it was only yesterday when he first took Yuri in his arms and kissed his brow.

“Hey, what’s going on, papochka?” asked Yuri, snapping Yuuri out of his reverie, blond brows drawn in with worry. “You look so sad,” he noted, a small hand reaching over to touch Yuuri’s cheek, patting it lightly.

Yuuri leaned into the touch, cradling the little hand against his own before shaking his head. “No, what makes you say that, zvezda moya?” he hummed, absentmindedly thumbing the soft bumps for knuckles.

With a soft huff, his young son pinched Yuuri’s cheeks without reservation, making Yuuri wince but he made no effort to escape the torture those pudgy fingers were giving him. “Your face,” Yuri deadpanned. “Did you not enjoy our time with Viktor?”

At the mention of the other man’s name, Yuuri flinched and the way that Yuri’s sea green eyes had widened, they both knew Yuri had hit it right on the money. “You didn’t!” Yuri gasped accusingly, snatching his hands away and hiding it behind his back. A pang of hurt shot through Yuuri’s heart at his son’s withdrawal, away from him. Yuri shouldn’t be so far away from him. “Why? I thought you two liked each other?” he questioned, dubious of Yuuri’s reaction towards Viktor as there weren't any clear signs of animosity between the two adults while they had spent their time together with Yuri.

For a moment, the words took Yuuri by surprise and his tongue had tripped over his words, making Yuri shoot him another incredulous look for all that spluttering, and Yuuri had to berate himself because his son certainly had not meant _that_ kind of like by any means. Fighting down a growing blush, he waved his arms around frantically, as if shooing away the negative thoughts running through Yuri’s mind. “I did,” he insisted, for he did not want Yuri to think that he held some resentment towards Viktor because there really wasn’t. Viktor was…

“Viktor is… nice,” he said lamely, settling for a safe adjective to describe the other man.

“But?” inquired Yuri, sensing some hesitation and he folded his arms across his chest again, a soft pout on his lips. He really wasn’t going to let this whole thing go, was he? Not when it involved Viktor.

Yuuri remained at his kneeling position on the floor, staying quiet, locking all the nasty thoughts he’d kept in his mind so his son would not know of such things, lips pressed together. He couldn’t tell him how it felt seeing his son with another man who was not his father, yet was able to fit the role so much. It had sent a lump of uneasiness down into the pit of his stomach where it remained and festered whenever his thoughts grew dark. Even if he logically knew that Viktor was not out to steal his son away from him by any means, it had hurt to see Viktor hold his Yurochka’s hand and see them having a good time together. It made him feel like he wasn’t meant to be Yuri’s father, like he was just trying to fill a role till Yuri was reunited with someone like Viktor, someone who _looked_ like he could be Yuri’s biological parent.

They didn’t look that far off either, both having such pale features in contrast to Yuuri’s dark hair and eyes and yellowish undertones. Yuri’s Slavic genes were more prominent, not a lick of Asian traits to his name. Yuuri’s hold on him was merely a birth certificate and years of raising him, but those things weren’t tangible. The naked eye was unable to see how deep Yuuri’s love ran for his son, it could not compete with a full-blooded Russian who looked at his son so adoringly. The thought of leaving his son alone with Viktor suddenly made Yuuri’s stomach churn fiercely. What if in his absence, Yuri decided that he preferred staying with Viktor?

Such thoughts made him feel faint and his heart ache maddeningly. Leaving his little Yuri in Viktor’s care was out of the question now. It was a bad idea from the very start, not when this possessive jealousy resided and raged war within him. It was silly really, Viktor was a charming man with a big heart, someone who his son looked up to, Yuri’s hero, who recognised his son’s talent despite him being just a small boy from Moscow with just a few local competition medals under his belt. There was nothing for Yuuri to fear or be jealous about, Viktor would never take Yuri away from him, Yuuri knew that for a fact, but in more ways than one, Viktor already did and it was at these instances when Yuuri felt the compulsion to cry.

Viktor had a better grasp of how Yuri felt, being a fellow skater and that’s where Yuuri fell short. He was ashamed to admit that even as he supported Yuri with his decision to take up skating as opposed to ballet like how he and Yulia had hoped, Yuuri never really took interest in the sport – more like he never had the time to look into it apart from his short sessions with Yuri at the rink. His cheeks would burn in humiliation for what he felt like shortcomings of his duties as a father to Yuri. He’d vowed to do better, to be more present for him and the passion he held for the sport he fell in love with but the timing was never right, not when a hit in his career would mean he could provide so much more for Yuri and also support his desire to skate.

It would have been so much easier if Yuri were to have chosen ballet, Yuuri knew the ins and outs of the academy and eventually, they could have been under the same company. Yuuri could teach him all the techniques and everything about stage presence but as Yuri approached the age for enrollment into the academy, it was glaringly obvious that he wanted nothing to do with ballet and had his heart set out on figure skating.

This was unfamiliar territory for Yuuri. While Yuri still soldiered on in taking his ballet classes and fulfilling both parents’ wishes, he insisted that it was merely as supplementation for his skating. Yuuri had secretly wished that Yuri would see the light eventually, finding ballet to be a beautiful thing and dropping his skating classes altogether, like how Yuuri had when he was a child, but as the years stretched on, it was clear that Yuri was his own person and not his father. Yuuri understood that his son had made a choice and that was to skate.

It scared Yuuri because the future seemed uncertain now since skating became a part of the picture, turning more and more into reality than just a child’s wishful dream. Yuri was growing fast and soon he would not depend on Yuuri as much anymore, not when it came to skating. It frightened him because Yuuri knew that if he wanted to stay relevant in Yuri’s eyes, he needed to be more attentive, more hands on with Yuri’s skating. He needed to be a proper skating dad, always there and supportive of Yuri during competitions, regardless of whether Yuri would turn pro at it in the future. Yet, he also understood that all those lessons and competitions would not come cheap and he could not just drop everything, even though a part of him wanted to be there for his child. Both skating and ballet were a full-time thing, each endeavour needing absolute attentiveness into the craft, in moulding the body to perfectly fit into the art form.

That was why he could see Viktor doing it, and again Yuuri’s jealousy reared its ugly head at the thought of Viktor taking over such fatherly duties that should only be his to shoulder. Yuuri’s competitive nature aside, Viktor would absolutely be the perfect skating dad for his Yurochka. Being a professional figure skater, it meant that Viktor would be at the rink at all times – the same exact rink if they played their cards right and Yuri had truly ended up under Yakov’s tutelage – to watch Yuri and his progress on the ice. Being Russia’s national skater also meant that Yuri would be getting pointers from the best of the best and Yuuri wanted nothing but the best for his son. Not to mention, Yuri would be so happy to be with Viktor…

The more Yuuri thought about it, it seemed more and more like the right thing Yuuri should be doing. To leave Yuri here in St. Petersburg and let him study under Yakov full time instead of just being invited for the summer. There were options, of course, to let Yuri remain with the skating club back home in Moscow but Yuuri knew what doors could open for his Yuri if he were to accept the offer extended to him and his son. It’s been years since he was approached by the man with the proposition and yet Yakov never failed to remind him of what was still on the table for them at the end of each summer if Yuuri were to ever change his mind. As each year passed, Yuuri’s reluctance to accept the generous proposal had whittled upon seeing Yuri skate on the ice.

Perhaps the time to discuss Yuri’s future was approaching faster than he’d anticipated. Yuuri knew he still had time to research more about it and talk it out amongst the other adults. He would also need to make the proper arrangements and seek Nikolai’s permission. Yuuri felt helpless even as a grown man to be taking steps and processes of relinquishing his son’s well-being to someone else, whereas he would be miles and miles beyond Yuri’s reach if he were to ever need him. He understood now how horrible it must have felt for his parents to be separated from him just so Yuuri could chase his own dreams. It felt like he was abandoning his child to fend on his own in such a big world. All this time, his Yurochka had grown surrounded by his small family and Yuuri felt that despite him trying to compensate and fill in the roles of two doting parents, it was never quite enough. What more if he were to leave Yuri here in St. Petersburg where he had no one?

No, that’s a lie.

Viktor was here in St. Petersburg. As well as Coach Yakov and the other skaters who they’ve become close with and who they now considered to be their family friends. His Yuri was strong and determined, yes, but he knew what it was like to be young and disconnected with family. It was something his Yurochka should never have to feel.

Yuuri didn’t know if the apprehension to let go was mostly him worried that Yuri would have a hard time with the separation or if it was just his selfish desire to keep his child close to him. He was too afraid to let someone take his place by Yuri’s side as his parent because if he did, Yuuri was sure that his hold on Yuri would somehow get broken. Since Yuri’s birth, Yuuri had never felt so touched by love, he had never wanted anything more than to be his father. He treasured Yuri with all his heart, for he was his world and more importantly, Yuri was his son.

“–pochka! Papochka!” A sharp sting on his cheek had Yuuri blinking rapidly. Yuri’s face swam into view, it was red, cheeks puffed out in annoyance. Yuuri knew he had done something wrong if Yuri was giving him that sort of face. “Did you even listen to a word I said?” his son asked surly and Yuuri tucked a lock of hair behind Yuri’s ear.

“I’m sorry, zvezda moya, I didn’t,” he apologised with a breathy chuckle. “Would you mind repeating what you said?”

Yuri harrumphed, batting away Yuuri’s hands that tried to smooth the flyaways on his head. “I said you don’t have to, you know?” he griped suddenly and Yuuri couldn’t tell if he was referring to the grooming or something else. “You don’t have to feel that way about Viktor. You don’t have to get jealous!” he insisted and swung a small fist down to knock him on the shoulder and scold him.

Jaw turning slack, Yuuri opened and closed his mouth, probably looking like a fish as he struggled to find the words to respond to his son’s outburst. “I am not!” he defended himself after he’d recovered from the shock. Goodness, it was one thing to _know_ your faults but to have them pointed out to you by your own son was like a slap in the face. His response had been automatic, an act of self-preservation, and really, Yuri should not be allowed to see such pettiness coming from his father.

“Yes, you _are_!” Yuri insisted and grabbed Yuuri’s face with his chubby hands. “I’m telling you, you shouldn’t be because it’s so _dumb_!”

With Yuri holding his face, Yuuri could not turn and hide away so instead, he looked down, fixing his eyes on the grout between the floor tiles and pressed his lips together. He guessed it was rather pathetic of him to compare himself with Viktor, he’s only Russia’s figure skating gold medallist–

“There is no competition, he’s Viktor Nikiforov, Russia’s national champion!”

Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to hear any more. He didn’t need to hear his son praise and admire another man, it would be bad for his already low self-esteem. Yuri’s words blurred and muddled together, only bits and pieces of them breaking through when Yuri raised his voice.

“He’s a skater, papa! My favourite skater!”

Meanwhile, Yuuri was just a mere dime a dozen ballet dancer…

His heart sank because how could he go up against someone who his son looked up to? He wasn’t his son’s hero, wasn’t someone he aspired to be and that fact hurt him so much, but what ached the most was how he wouldn’t be there to be introduced as Yuri’s father. Yuuri had developed such a complex about who he was in Yuri’s life because of how Asian he appeared and it gave him such a thrill to see people get taken aback that someone like Yuuri could have sired his Yurochka. It pleased him greatly to prove them wrong that _yes, Yurochka here is my son_ , a deep sense of pride thrumming beneath his skin. Yuuri always wanted them to be connected, they were family, their ties were supposed to be binding. He couldn’t lose his son. Yuri was his boy. _His_.

“Viktor is not you and you are not Viktor! He’s– Are you ignoring me _again_?” Yuri’s grip on him tightened, his fingers sinking into the flesh of his cheeks.

_I’m sorry Yurochka, I’m not any of those things..._

“Papochka, listen to me!”

Yuri’s hands shook or it might be Yuuri who was shaking so violently.

“Viktor’s not my papa, _you_ are!”

Yuuri’s eyes snapped open and the first thing to invade his vision was his son’s distraught face, his cheeks were wet with streaks of tears, red blossoming over his pale features. Yuuri’s breath left him in a rush, concern overfilling his being at his son’s upset. Reaching over, he cradled a cheek and ran a thumb over the wet tracks, wiping away the droplets that threatened to spill and dabbed at those that clung on his blond lower lashes.

“Milaya moya, why are you crying?” he asked Yuri gently on what the matter was. His voice had gone a little raspy and he found it difficult to get the words out with the scratch in his throat.

When Yuri gave an indignant snort, it sounded congested. He gave Yuuri a roll of the eyes and it lent Yuuri a sense of relief because if his Yurochka was able to muster the strength to do that then he was going to be alright. “Papa, you big dummy, you’re the one that’s crying!” Yuri informed him, a bubble of phlegm in his speech. Slipping his small fingers under Yuuri’s glasses, he attempted to wipe the unshed tears.

Yuuri touched his own face, feeling how wet they’d gotten. “Huh, I guess I am,” he noted dumbly, rubbing his fingers together, smearing the salty tears between his fingertips. His vision left him momentarily when his glasses – that were gradually starting to fog up and obstruct his vision – were pulled off by Yuri and he blinked a couple of times until his eyes adjusted.

“Papa’s a big dummy,” Yuri sniffled, rubbing his nose furiously.

“I am,” Yuuri agreed wholeheartedly with a nod and gently took hold of his son’s wrist to stop him from trying to erase his entire nose off his face with how much friction he was producing.

Yuri sniffed again, his cute button nose had turned red in irritation from the incessant rubbing. He blinked up owlishly at Yuuri, the very image of innocence despite the tough outer shell his Yurochka often tried to display. Yuuri’s heart warmed because he knew Yuri only shed his gusty armour to a handful of people and he, as Yuri’s father, was one of the selected few who he’d permitted to see him like this. Unable to resist the temptation, Yuuri went ahead and booped the reddened nose with his forefinger.

“Boop.”

“Hey!” Yuri cried out, a hand flying to his nose. He glared at Yuuri accusingly but those sea green eyes held no heat in them and his lips lifted slightly at the corners, amused by Yuuri’s actions. “Papa,” he grumbled, squinting his eyes and puffing his chest up to look intimidating, hands on his hips.

“Yurochka,” Yuuri countered, going with his little game.

They looked at each other for what felt like the longest time but their little staring match could not have been longer than a couple of minutes. Yuuri wagged his eyebrows in teasing, making them dance in a wave, whilst Yuri scrunched up his face and wiggled his nose in retort, the both of them determined to make the other lose. They exploded into raucous laughter at the same time, neither of them having won the standoff, the both of them clutching at their tummies till the hysterics died down to soft giggles.

Yuuri wiped at the tears in the corners of his eyes once he finally got the chance to breathe. That chance didn’t last very long because the next thing he knew, his breath was knocked out of him when Yuri rammed his small body to Yuuri’s chest in a tackling hug and he almost lost his balance, a hand darting out to steady himself. Yuri’s arms were looped around his neck with his face buried in his cotton shirt and soft mumbling could be heard from his little boy. Though, Yuuri couldn’t make out if he was making a soft whine or a low growl.

“Hmm?” Yuuri hummed in question, delicately caressing Yuri’s hair of spun gold.

His son turned his cheek so Yuuri could hear him. “I see you,” Yuri repeated, tightening his hold on Yuuri, giving him a light nuzzle and Yuuri waited for his son to continue. “I see how hurt you get whenever people think you’re not my papa,” Yuri clarified, snuggling closer to Yuuri as if to give him comfort.

Yuuri had baulked at his son’s observation, disappointed at just how much he’d let his emotions leak through to the surface that his son had to be concerned about him. “It’s alright, Yurochka –”

“No, it’s not!” Yuri grunted as he beat his fist on Yuuri’s shoulder again. “How can it be alright when you get all sad? It makes me upset!” he huffed, stuffing his face to Yuuri’s chest.

“Oh Yurochka, I’m so sorry for distressing you,” Yuuri cooed, rubbing soothing circles on his back and Yuri shot him a heated glare for it. Yuuri knew Yuri didn’t like it when he apologised for things Yuri thought he shouldn’t be sorry for. “It’s because we look so different,” he tried to justify but it just came off as a tired sigh.

“So what?” Yuri fired back, nearly hitting Yuuri’s chin when his head shot up. “That doesn’t prove anything! Just because I look more like mama, it doesn’t make you not my papa!”

Yuuri gave him a wary smile. “I know,” he breathed and planted a chaste kiss on Yuri’s forehead.

That got Yuri to calm down a little and he dropped his head to Yuuri’s shoulder, repositioning his arms to wrap around Yuuri’s torso instead, careful of the pair of glasses he still held. They stayed in that comfortable silence for a while until Yuri nudged Yuuri’s chin with his nose. “Is that why you’re jealous of Viktor? Because people keep joking that he looked like he was my real papa?” he asked, voice small and unsure. “Is that why you look so sad when you look at the two of us together?” Yuri nosed the crook of Yuuri’s neck, turning affectionate.

Closing his eyes, Yuuri admitted shakily, “Yes. Yes, it is,” and held Yuri closer to him, cradling his baby boy’s head. It was a half-truth, his jealousy only being partly the reason why his heart would seize up at such a sight but Yuri didn’t need to be concerned with every single thing that troubled his father so Yuuri kept it to himself, passing it off as mere jealousy.

“You know that’s really dumb, right?” mumbled Yuri, peering at him from beneath his lashes.

There was an amused quirk of the lips before Yuuri cracked a full smile and he swooped down to kiss Yuri’s nose. “As I’ve been told, yes,” he replied cheekily, feeling his crinkles deepen with the force of his smile.

Unlike the other times, Yuri did not complain or pull back from the sneak attack but instead, he gave Yuuri a little squeeze. “I get really mad too when people get it wrong,” confessed Yuri with a small frown. “They don’t know anything about papa and me… They just say things that they want to say. What matters is what I think, doesn’t it? You know that I know that you’re my papa, right?” Yuri looked up at Yuuri. There was a sniffle in his voice as if he were holding back the tears to cry again.

“Of course, milaya moya,” Yuuri assured him, patting his lower back as he would when he would rock him to sleep. “You’re my son, regardless of what anyone says.”

“I don’t want anyone else to be my papa. Not even Viktor! I want you! You’re the only papa for me,” Yuri hiccupped, eyes turning glassy from the fresh tears that were building up.

Gathering his child up in his arms, Yuuri straightened and got off the floor. He tucked Yuri’s head under his chin and attempted to shush his sobs, “Oh, malish moy,” he pleaded with him but even he felt the heat stinging the back of his eyes, his breath beginning to stutter. Yuuri was having a hard time keeping his composure, the need to look strong in front of his little boy crumbling. His chest constricted painfully, his heart oh so heavy, and he clutched at his Yuri in fear that he would disappear.

Yuri raised his head and looked straight at him. The little snuffles he’d made had turned into loud sobs, hot, fat tears cascading down his blotchy face. “I only want you, papochka, no one else... You’re my papa! No matter what, you’ll always be papochka to me so don’t you forget it!” he wailed and Yuuri bounced him lightly in his arms in an effort to pacify him but there was no helping it when the floodgates had burst open.

It was the same for Yuuri too, and he wept openly, unabashed at how he appeared in front of his boy, chest heaving with how strongly he was sobbing. His little star, his darling son had in one fell swoop fought off the big bad monsters inside his head, reassuring Yuuri that he was indeed the only father for Yuri and there would never be anyone who could replace him in that role. There was relief, it washed over him and had settled into his bones, solidified his standing in Yuri’s life. He was Yuri’s father.

No matter what, Yuuri would always be his father, Yuri had said so.

Yuuri pressed a tender, lingering kiss on a thin brow as he cupped Yuri’s face, conveying all the love and affection he held for him in the gesture. “Thank you for saying those words, zvezdochka moya. You make me so happy… You are my child, my Yurochka…” he whispered and rubbed their red noses together in a bunny kiss. “From the day you were born, I’ve never been the same person. I became a father, your father, and at that time I was just the father that you needed but now…” Yuuri paused to swallow the large lump in his throat and looked into in son’s sea green eyes, softly bumping their foreheads together. “Now I think I’ve become the father that you wanted. Have I, Yurochka?” he queried, his voice faint.

Without hesitation, Yuri gave him a brisk nod and gently touched Yuuri’s face with his free hand. “You have. You’ve always been that, papochka. I told you, you’re the only papa I’d ever want,” he declared.

With a sniff, Yuuri rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm and gave a weak chuckle. “I’m glad. I’m so glad, Yurochka,” he cried and pulled Yuri into another embrace. “You’ll always be my baby boy.”

“Not a baby! I’m a big boy now!” Yuri protested with a sulk, giving Yuuri’s cheek a punishing pinch. Yuuri offered him a wet smile and Yuri returned it to him. “But I will always be your boy, just like how you’ll always be my papa.” Yuri gave a soft sigh and snuggled into the hug. His eyes had started to droop, most probably tired from today’s events and also their emotional affair, but he looked content now that they’ve put the issue behind them.

Balancing Yuri on his hip, Yuuri toed his loafers off, using the dexterity of his socked toes to grip the sides of his shoes and lift them onto the shoe rack – thankfully, they were on the lower shelf. Taking his glasses back from Yuri’s hold, he’d slid them back on and he stepped into the apartment, switching on the necessary lights as it had gotten dark now. He rocked Yuri gently when he felt him going limp in his arms. Yuri had nodded off by the time Yuuri had reached the bedroom, mouth slightly opened and letting out a quiet snore. Yuuri smiled at how adorable he looked, his hand giving the boy’s bottom gentle rhythmic pats to ensure he kept sleeping.

The covers on the bed had already been turned down – more like the bed wasn’t made this morning in their haste to leave the apartment. Carefully, trying to not jostle his son from sleep, he got into bed. Yuri did not stir and Yuuri somehow managed to manoeuvre them to a more comfortable position. He had laid Yuri on his side and still had an arm around the boy, his golden head resting on his shoulder. Pulling the covers over them, Yuuri threw his other arm over his son’s form so they may cuddle in their sleep.

In the dim light of the bedroom, courtesy of the streetlights outside, Yuuri fixed his eyes on the angelic and strongly Slavic features of his son. He traced every feature of them with his forefinger, from the pale eyebrows to the straight sharp nose, the high cheekbones and pointed chin, none of which were inherited from him. He kept his touch light when he caressed a fair and rosy cheek with the back of his hand, wondering if Yuri’s skin would darken as he aged up but knowing that he would never sport the same Kyuushu tan as him. Playing with Yuri’s golden locks, he curled them around his fingers before combing it away from Yuri’s face and tucking it behind his ear. His hair too, although the gold may deepen in colour, it would still remain pale in comparison to Yuuri’s jet black.

It didn’t matter, just like Yuri had said. The differences didn’t make him love his son any less and vice versa.

Yuuri admired Yuri for his attentiveness, he was a far more perceptive child than he’d let on. He’d caught on Yuuri’s discomfort despite Yuuri not letting out any verbal cues and he’d gone out of his way to remedy it. Yuuri let out a content sigh, nosing at the fine baby hairs of Yuri’s hairline. He took comfort in how much Yuri cared about him, the gesture he’d made this afternoon was endearing, his choice of words had left a lingering warmth surrounding his heart.

In his Asian culture, love was not often expressed verbally but rather more towards acts of service in consideration towards their beloved. While they might not look like each other physically, it was these qualities, Yuuri believed that Yuri had inherited from him, the intangible things. He liked to think that he was able to pass on some of his better mannerisms, despite Yuri’s hot headedness. A soft chuckle escaped him when Yuri let out a grunt in his sleep, finding his son even cuter while he slept and Yuuri patted the boy’s thigh in order to lull him.

Oh, how he loved his Yurochka…

Yuuri’s hand stilled as he came to the realisation that he’d never said the words “I love you” to Yuri before, at least not out loud, not in his native tongue, nor any other language they’ve spoken under their roof. Coming from a Japanese heritage, it never really occurred to Yuuri before to profess it, even towards his son. Even the thought of saying it felt alien to Yuuri as words of love was often reserved and in most cases not said at all, not even between loved ones.

The term love often held a broad meaning in other languages, but in Japan, the weight of the words was heavier, being accompanied by such strong, deep emotions not meant to be uttered for everyday use. The only time he could imagine himself saying them was as a confession when he was – knock on wood – on his deathbed. Even as a child, he was familiar with the notion of his family not saying them to him, he knew they loved him from other, nonverbal expressions of love. He understood the reason behind it though, such words were not meant to be used so frivolously or else they’ll lose all meaning. The words of love were regarded to be very special and should be respected as such, only certain occasions warranting their use.

As Yuuri looked down at his sleeping boy with reverence, he wondered if now was the appropriate time. He loved Yuri more than anything in the world, he was the light in life, his little star. Golden eyelashes fluttered and Yuri mumbled out a string of sentences that made no sense, it was all sleep talk but the words were undoubtedly Russian, and it made Yuuri’s eyes flick to his son’s facial features once more.

Yuri was not Japanese by any means, not on his papers, and while Yuuri had based their household on both Russian and Japanese culture when it came it raising Yuri so he may have the best of both worlds, had this particular Japanese mannerism given his Yurochka any doubts whenever he saw other parents profess such loving words to their children? Was it right to let him be bound with the same expectations as Yuuri did growing up concerning the expression of love between them?

Yuuri decided he wanted to try. He believed that it was only right to say it and that now would be the perfect moment when such a great amount of love was swirling within him. His lips parted but he stopped short as he deliberated on which language he would use. English, he felt was the least constrained, more flexible in expression, whereas Russian seemed more appropriate, given Yuri’s background. He, however, was not at all inclined to say them in Japanese, the words still so seemingly heavy and foreign on his tongue that he abandoned the idea altogether, but he thought that the other two seemed like a good first step for him.

The pillow he was resting his head on was too far back and when he’d moved to adjust it, Yuri had stirred, lifting his head off of Yuuri’s shoulder to squint at his father. Yuuri tensed when Yuri sat up, rubbing his eyes with his small fists. Before having the opportunity to coax him back to bed, Yuri had crawled back into Yuuri’s arms and gave a small cuddle before flipping himself on his back. Grabbing Yuuri’s arm, Yuri placed it back around himself and made grabby hand gestures to silently ask for Yuuri’s other arm to wrap around him so he may be enveloped in a cocoon of safety. Yuuri gave into his son’s request and immediately one of Yuri’s hands went to Yuuri’s elbow like Yuuri had hoped for.

It was such a strange yet wondrous thing really, for he knew and read about how children sometimes needed something to hold while they slept or play with in bed as they dozed off to give them a sense of familiarity. More commonly they were teddy bears or baby blankets but for Yuri, it was, funnily enough, Yuuri’s elbow. Yuuri could feel Yuri grab onto what little skin was there and pinching it lightly, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger to play with. Yuri would switch between playing with the loose skin or rubbing circles at the bony protrusion, the actions somehow providing him with feelings of calmness.

Yuuri marvelled at the notion, the hit of nostalgia came rushing back to him with the speed of a Shinkansen. How long had it been since Yuri last did this, finding comfort in his arms? Yuri was on the verge of reaching young adolescence now and Yuuri knew that the moments to be shared between them, moments like this, were limited. It made Yuuri choke up and before he knew it, the words tumbled right out of his lips.

“I love you.”

It was in Japanese, the language he’d felt would appear too great, to be too much and yet, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to be said in, with no hesitations, no mental preparations to get him to do it, it hadn’t felt foreign at all as he’d expected, in fact, it felt _right_. He had said it clearly despite it being a reverent whisper, but it was loud enough that Yuri had paused in his ministrations on Yuuri’s elbow to let the words sink in. The next few heartbeats were filled with anxiety at how his Yurochka would take to it but the touches that had resumed on his elbow gave Yuuri some solace.

Yuri’s eyes found his, eyelashes lowering in a silent beckoning and Yuuri scooted his face closer to his son till their noses touched. “Boku mo,” Yuri breathed his response when Yuuri got close enough and those words made Yuuri’s heart stop before kick-starting back to life, warmth and love flooding into him from the middle of his chest to the tips of his toes. There was a flicker of pride with the knowledge that his son had felt the same way, the familial ties that bind them getting stronger. Yuri’s lips spread into a sleepy smile and he repeated the words, “Boku mo,” before his eyelashes flickered and his eyelids drooped, fingers curled around Yuuri’s elbow.

Kissing the space between Yuri’s brow, Yuuri pressed the four syllables into his skin before bidding him good night, settling under the covers to curl around his little boy. That night, as Yuuri drifted off to sleep, he finally gave himself some credit and deemed himself worthy of being Yuri’s father, now free of the shackles of doubt that had haunted him. He knew right then and there that he was capable of giving his Yurochka, his little star, a father’s love.

**Author's Note:**

> To Seiji who always believed in me and managed to gather all the broken pieces and put my confidence back together ❤
> 
> He also made the art that inspired this ficlet so please go to his tumblr and leave a like and share with a reblog! >>> [HERE](https://sxijiro.tumblr.com/post/163768612320/as-i-mentioned-i-was-going-to-do-a-digital-version)
> 
> Talk to me about Yuri!!! on Ice on my [TUMBLR](https://www.que-bae.tumblr.com)
> 
> Please leave a kudos if you liked it and share it with people who you think will like it too! Leave me a comment on what you think and subscribe if you like my content! If you wish to read the original TTTB fic click [HERE](https://http://archiveofourown.org/works/9658439/chapters/21818774)
> 
> Thank you to my current readers for all the kudos, comments, subscriptions and shares, I treasure each and every one of them, your support means the world to me and I'll do my best to keep you guys entertained.☆⌒ヽ(*'､＾*)chu For new readers, I hope you stay for the ride and a huge welcome if you decided to stay! o(*^▽^*)o~♪


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